


Five Times Richie Tozier Did a Voice, and One Time He Didn't

by moonlight69



Category: IT - Stephen King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlight69/pseuds/moonlight69
Summary: Life after It goes on, and the Losers' Club does too, at least for a while.





	Five Times Richie Tozier Did a Voice, and One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [younglegends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/younglegends/gifts).



**October 25th, 1958**

"Is anyone else coming?" Bev asked as she approached the bench where Richie waited, across the street from the Aladdin.

"Bill said he might make it. Everyone else is busy," Richie replied, bouncing to his feet, then immediately sitting again as Bev sat. "But the first film starts in about 5 minutes, so we probably shouldn't wait too much longer." Part of him hoped Bill couldn't make it; it wouldn't really be a _date_ , but four hours alone in a dark theater next to Beverly was close enough for him. 

Bev looked up at the marquee, wrinkling her nose. "It seems kind of silly to watch make-believe horror movies now, doesn't it?" she said quietly, her expression solemn. The worst of the horrors they had survived in the sewers had faded from their memories, but the emotion beneath it still came back sharp and bright at times, at least they did for Richie, and from the sometimes haunted look in his friends' eyes, he knew he wasn't entirely alone. They didn't really talk about it much, some less than others, but that day would always be with them in some way, he was sure.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he disagreed. "I think I'll quite happily keep my ball-shriveling terror directed at pretend monsters from now on, if it's all the same to you."

Bev cracked a small smile at that and pulled her gaze from the theater. "Okay, that's a good point, I guess." She chewed her lip nervously then, briefly drawing his attention to her mouth before he darted his gaze back up to her eyes. "Richie…I hate to ask…" and he could see the truth in her words, the flicker of shame that passed over her expression, "It's just my dad…" she took a deep breath, steeling herself to explain further, but before she had to, he held up a hand.

"Schweetheart, a classy dame like you desherves the world on a silver platter," he drawled in his best Bogart. "But you'll have to settle for a double creature feature courtesy of yours truly. And maybe a ice cream soda afterwards, if we're feeling particularly daring."

She giggled and shook her head. "If you say, "Here's looking at you, kid," I'm going home." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'll pay you back, I swear. Next time I get my allowance."  
"Nah, don't worry about it." Richie waited a beat, then grabbed her hand. "Come on, we better head in." Bogart came back once more as he added, "It's jusht you and me, it seems." Bev nodded, ponytail bobbing, and the two of them darted across the street hand in hand.

**October 31st, 1958**

It was Beverly's first boy-girl party (and if her father knew _that_ little fact, oh friends and neighbors, Bevvie wouldn't sit comfortably for a week. He worried, after all. He worried a _lot_ ,) and she was glad that Sally Mueller's parents had insisted she invite the whole grade. Safety in numbers, after all.

She descended the stairs to the large basement den Mrs. Mueller had directed her to, questioning her sanity for even attending. If most of the loser's club hadn't planned to come, she probably _wouldn't_ have, but having Ben, Bill, Richie, and Eddie there would make it at least bearable.

The cheesy decorations made her roll her eyes. Silly rubber masks atop straw-stuffed chambray shirts and blue jeans weren't exactly the height of scary to her these days, after all.

Everyone was sitting in a large circle, mostly segregated into boys and girls, and as Greta Bowie spied her, despite the way her lip curled in vague distaste, she called out in a voice whose false sincerity fooled no one. "Oh, good, Beverly's here. Put your coat over there and come join us. We're playing truth or dare. You can go next."

Bev tossed her coat on top of the pile that had been created in the corner of the room and ignored the clear gender lines, tugging her skirt down as she knelt and wriggled her way into a space between Bill and Richie. "Sure," she said, raising her chin. It wasn't as if she was afraid of anything a few mean-spirited girls could think up for her to do. "Dare, then."

Greta and Sally's heads bowed as they consulted in heated whispers. Greta nodded and straightened, scanning the semicircle of boys across from her. "I dare you to kiss…Richie."

Bev arched an eyebrow and shrugged carelessly. "Done." She turned to Richie, whose eyebrows had rose above the frames of his thick glasses, and cupped the back of his head as she leaned in and kissed him firmly, keeping her lips pressed to his for several seconds despite the screamy giggles coming from the girls' side of the circle.

Her moment of triumph turned to embarrassment a moment later, as "Trashmouth" Tozier once more lived up to his name. "Jaysus Christ, girrul, and where did ye larn to kiss like _that_? If your dear mam knew, sure and begorrah she'd ship you back to the auld country faster'n--"

"Beep-beep, Richie," she growled under her breath, cheeks burning, and to her relief, he subsided, but the smug grin on his face was bold as ever. Greta and Sally had leaned in to whisper some more, casting scornful glances in her direction. She was a breath away from rising to her feet, grabbing her coat, and fleeing out into the cool Halloween evening when she felt a warm hand press to her lower back. She glanced at Bill, who was shooting a look cool enough to leave frost on the recipients at Sally and her friends, cool enough to make the whispers quickly taper off into nothing. She flooded with warmth of a different kind, the warmth of knowing that she wasn't facing this alone.

She squared her shoulders and smiled, letting her gaze slowly travel around the circle of her schoolmates. "All right, who's next?"

**November 15th, 1958**

"One more time," Beverly said, striding to the record player to reset the needle. The Glenn Miller Orchestra once again began playing "In the Mood," for about the 15th time in a row.

"Ah say, ah say, ah'm not sure I've got one more in me, dawlin'," Richie drawled in his Southern Senator voice. "Wouldn't you rawther sip a mint julep on the verandah?" He mimed wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Richie, the talent show is next Friday, and we still have trouble on the out and back. We _have_ to get it worked out. This is probably the last time we'll really get to practice like this. You know it is. So please? Just once more?"

Richie sighed dramatically, looking as if the expulsion of breath deflated him as he slumped back on the rug in his living room. When the weather had been warmer, they'd practiced in the little picnic spot by the library, but once the snow started to fall, they'd had to find a new place to practice. Bev's place was right out, for obvious reasons, but Richie's parents had just wanted to make sure Bev's folks knew where she was (of course she'd lied and said yes), and Richie had been instructed to let his mother know at least an hour before suppertime if Bev would be eating with them (she wouldn't). Then they'd left the two of them alone to scoot the furniture to the walls and practice.

"One more time," Bev repeated, a thread of steel in her voice this time as she held out a hand to help Richie off the floor.

"Dis yere black boy is gwineter do his best, Miz Scawlett! Dun' whup me again! I's'll find a way to please the massah!" he screeched, letting her pull him to his knees before he salaamed at her feet a few times.

"Now I have to start the record again." Bev threw up her arms in fond exasperation and left Richie to get to his feet as she lifted the needle once again. "Ready?" 

Richie groaned and climbed to his feet with a dramatic stagger. "You really _are_ a slave driver, Bev," he grumbled in his own voice. 

"You'll thank me when our Lindy wins," she said sweetly, dropping the needle onto the vinyl and moving to face Richie, reaching for his hands. "Ready?"

And when they came in second the following week, even though he never said the _words_ , the fiercely triumphant hug and peck to her lips was as good as a thank-you.

**May 9th, 1959**

"Hey!" Beverly broke into a run as she spotted Richie sprawled on his ass on the sidewalk, surrounded by Peter Gordon, Moose Sadler, and Gard Jagermeyer. It was funny how once Henry, Belch, and Victor were gone (and of course, only the Losers' Club knew what had really happened to the latter two), the power vacuum had closed up with almost startling quickness; now Peter led the town's bullies in picking on the slow and the weak, and Richie continued to be a popular target even under the new regime.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" she called from a few feet away, hands on her hips. The boys turned toward her as one.

"Oh, look, four-eyes, your little slut is here. You gonna let a girl fight your battles now?" Peter sneered.

"Chaps, I've seen that bird in a battle of fisticuffs," Richie piped in the voice he had dubbed Toodles the English Butler. "If you're fond of walking upright, I'd do what she says, pip-pip, cheerio, and all that rot." He had crab-walked backwards between Moose and Gard and was getting to his feet, making a show of brushing the legs of his jeans. "She does queen and country proud, wot?"

Bev made her expression grow harder and cracked her knuckles, pressing a fist into her palm, then switching hands. "You boys afraid to take on a girl?" Her eyes darted to Richie briefly, then away, as she saw him subtly moving into position, their eyes communicating a shared plan in a beat.

"I'm not letting some slut from Lower Main talk to me like that," Peter growled, and charged toward her, his lackeys a half-step behind--or so they had planned. Richie's foot shot out, catching Gard in the shin and making him stumble into Moose. The two of them tottered for a moment before falling in a tangle of limbs, but Bev didn't have time to wait for them to land because Peter was almost upon her. She juked to the left, spun to the right, and darted past him, his outstretched hand only getting a few hairs of her ponytail, enough to bring tears to her eyes as they parted ways with her scalp, and then she was flying past the other two, shouting, "GO!" at Richie, who had already moved to fall into step. 

They ran side by side, and Beverly couldn't help the giggles that escaped her despite the lingering fear that Peter could still catch them up. Compared to Henry Bowers, Peter paled on the bully scale, and he only kept up the chase for a couple of blocks before slowing and turning to reunite with his companions. 

Bev slowed, glancing back once more to make sure the three of them hadn't renewed the chase, then flopped onto the lawn surrounding the Derry Public Library, holding her stomach as breathless laughter continued to escape her. "It was like a Stooges routine," she gasped, looking over to where Richie had collapsed next to her, chuckling a bit himself. "We couldn't have done that better if it had been choreographed."

"Those chaps don't seem the sort to ignore such an insult, ay-wot?" Richie replied, still apparently in Toodles mode. "I would watch your lovely backside, mum, at least for a few days. They did seem a bit lacking in the intellect department, so one would imagine they shall forget shortly enough."

"Yeah, yeah. You watch yours too, Trashmouth," Bev replied, but felt a faint blush at the compliment. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, feeling the springtime sun on her skin. "We made a good team back there." When there wasn't an immediate reply from Richie, she opened her eyes again and glanced over to find him watching her with a small smile. "What?"

Richie looked away, pushing his glasses up on his nose, his shoulders shifting in a shrug. "Nothing. We do make a good team," he agreed, lying still for another three or four more whole seconds, practically an eternity for him, then bounced to his feet. "I got my allowance. Let's see who can eat more licorice whips in one minute."

Beverly laughed and held out her hand for him to help her up.

**August 9th, 1959**

"Ach! Und vat do you tink you're doing, Fraulein?" Richie trumpeted in his German Commandant voice, startling Bev out of her reverie. She sat up, absently brushing grass from her arms. "Hast du eine permit for doing nussink?" 

Bev shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed up at Richie. "I wasn't doing _nothing_ she protested, then smiled sheepishly. "I was cloudwatching."

"Sounds like an excuse to do nothing to me," Richie commented, flopping on the grass next to her. "Got any cigarettes?"

Bev arched an eyebrow and patted the rolled-up sleeve of her Ship 'n Shore blouse. "Don't I usually?"

"Then what are we doing waiting around here?" Without waiting to see if she followed, he stood again and headed for a nearby stand of willow trees where they'd likely be left alone. (Beverly thought to herself that finding places where they _could_ be left alone had gotten harder since they'd abandoned the Barrens, but even thinking of that place sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. They had had some good times, but after what had happened, there had been a unanimous and unspoken agreement to stay out of the Barrens.)

She sighed and heaved to her feet, carefully unrolling her sleeve as she walked to free the precious cigarettes. Richie produced matches as they found a tree trunk to lean against, shoulder to shoulder. He lit hers first, then his own, and exhaled a cloud of smoke with a sigh.

"It feels so strange now that he's gone," Beverly commented quietly. Kids they knew had moved away before, of course, but Bill had been the first of the Losers Club to leave Derry, up to Bangor with his parents not two weeks before. "Do you think we'll still all stay friends? He was kind of…" she trailed off, not really sure how to define the place Big Bill had held in the Losers' Club. He'd been the leader, nobody would dispute that, but he'd also sort of been the center, hadn't he? The magnet that they had gathered around, one by one, like iron filings.

Richie took a thoughtful drag and exhaled. "I hope so. Man, my life would suck without you guys."

"Mine too." Bev said simply. 

**April 21st, 1960**

The big truck out in front of the Tozier's house was full and secured, and their family car was full of the last odds and ends of their lives when Beverly approached, hesitating at the end of the drive. Richie came out with a box in his arms stopping when he spotted Bev, then continuing down the porch stairs and to the car. He set the box on the trunk and slowly made his way to Bev, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched a little. 

"I can't believe you're going too," Bev said. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry this time, not like she had when Bill left, but she could hear the tears in her voice, feel them in her throat. "It feels like we're falling apart piece by piece." 

"Maybe it's for the best," Richie replied, suprising her, at least until he continued. "Derry's _bad_. Even if…it's a lot better than it was, there's something wrong with this place. You know it as well as I do. The sooner we all get out of here, the better." 

"Yeah, like _I'm_ ever getting out of here," Bev muttered, staring at his shoes as she tried to blink back the tears that had finally reached her eyes. 

"You will. You'll get out of Derry and go be a famous actress, or a writer…" 

"Bill's the storyteller, not me," Bev protested. 

Richie shook his head. "My point is you won't be stuck here forever. I promise. And we can still write each other, stay in touch. This doesn't have to be goodbye forever." 

Bev nodded, rubbing a hand dismissively over her eyes to clear her tears. "I hope you're right." 

"And I won't ever forget you, not ever. None of you," Richie vowed. "Scout's honor." 

Bev threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I won't forget you either, Richie. I couldn't." 

_Of course, it was a promise neither of them could keep, but they didn't know that yet, and that's another story._


End file.
